


Wheel of Fortune

by demeritus



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Christian Witch Galahad, Gen, M/M, Mordred's doing his own thing, Wiccan Percival
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24598240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demeritus/pseuds/demeritus
Summary: Galahad and Percival as New Age Pagans, with various levels of reincarnation angst. Mordred does occult paintings and Glastonbury, UK is a dangerous place.
Relationships: Galahad/Percival (Arthurian)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Pendulum

When Galahad remembered, he avoided everyone for a week. He had seen an advert for a psychic at a local cafe and took an evening to visit him, using the small allowance his parents still begrudgingly gave him. When he saw “hypnotism” on the list of services, he grinned. This psychic claimed to be able to uncover past lives and if anything, it would be a fun story - material for his boyfriend’s writing. He had not expected to leave that place with tears in his eyes.

As the pendulum swung back and forth, seemingly random feelings and images impressed themselves upon his mind. He thought he might be dreaming, or in the best of circumstances, entranced. There seemed to be a spirit visiting him...an angel, perhaps? Something about this markedly new energy felt bright, warm, and disconcertingly familiar. His mind’s eye was filled with images of the countryside; free of paved roads, signs, power lines, any semblance of human life. After a minute, he was consumed by a vivid dream. 

_The rain weighed down his clothes, and despite how thick they felt, how loud they creaked, he was comfortable if exhausted. He was sitting on a horse, saddle and all, and there was a scene in front of him; when he focused, he saw more horses, and several people fighting with swords. It wasn’t the combat that did it, but a dread gradually overcame him. He knew someone in that fight, and he wasn’t just a spectator. It wasn’t only dread; the more he sat there and watched, the clearer he could differentiate; it was grief, driving deeper and deeper with every raindrop. It was his father - why would he feel such things about his father? He didn’t notice the tears amidst the rain._

When he awoke, there were tears staining his own cheeks, and the psychic was saying something. He looked at the man in a panic, for a moment too frozen to move.

“You’re suddenly so quiet,” the psychic said.

“How long was I asleep?” He was still out of it, but thought it rude to simply storm out of the office without notice.

The psychic raised his eyebrows.

“You’re back with us then,” the psychic said, smiling. “I had a lovely conversation with your past life.”

“My - past -” 

“You were remarkable, my boy. A legend in fact! I’ve always thought the stories might be true, but I never imagined I would meet someone from them. I’d wager you’ll be just as remarkable in this life.”

“What...legends?”

The psychic blinked and squinted in confusion.

“You don’t remember? No...dream, no impression? You were Galahad, my boy. King Arthur’s finest knight!”

At this he was struck with a sudden disquiet, which he met by laughing amidst his still falling tears.

“That’s...huh, that’s really something. Anyway, uh, thanks for the reading, but it’s getting late! Have a good evening!”

He stood quickly and bounded for the door without looking back. In the London streets, it was raining, but he took the long way home, looping back around the same park three times. He kept thinking back to that dream, and that spirit, that _presence_ was still with him, perhaps the only thing keeping him at all put together. 

When he returned home, he hung his dripping clothes in the bathroom and sequestered himself in his room. He thought about calling his boyfriend, but he had no idea what he would say. _“I had the strangest encounter with a psychic today; he told me I was a knight of the Round Table in a past life, and now my head is full of horses and sadness!”_ That wouldn’t do. Anyway, the more time had passed, the more these dreams cemented themselves in his memory - they didn’t fade away like most dreams, but instead grew stronger, more vivid, to the point that they felt like _real things._

That night, his restless sleep was filled with further nightmares; blood, his own and that of others, spilling across battlefields, the stench of dead bodies and the feeling of cold metal cutting into his skin, the impact of falling off a warhorse in full plate armor. He woke up sweating and shaking, somehow sweltering and freezing at the same time.

His parents confirmed that he had a fever, so he was able to stay home the rest of the week. When his boyfriend inevitably called to check on him, he mustered a few words to assure him that he was okay, only sick with something like the flu, and expressed regret that they could not see each other. He let his boyfriend ramble on about what he had missed at school. The term was near an end and they had been considering where to go next - they had their hearts set on staying together and finding a college they could both attend. He talked about what he was writing and what they had been reading in literature. Galahad listened fondly, but there was something new about his boyfriend. He couldn’t pick up on what it was, but it was somehow familiar, though he had only just noticed it.

The last few days of his self-imposed quarantine, he refused his boyfriend’s calls, saying he was losing his voice, or pretending to sleep when they came. He felt bad for the deception, but these dreams, these visions, continued to consume him.

He thought he was possessed. The more he “remembered,” the closer that angel-spirit came to him. The spirit was so familiar, so _right_ it felt like...not a friend, but someone close. 

He collected a few of what could only be described as alternate memories. Childhood memories of school and recreation muddled with an inordinate amount of church services; his own memories of droning voices and stale grape juice mixed with the suddenly familiar sensation of pain in his knees, Latin singing, and the smell of strong incense. These “new” memories didn’t replace his old ones, but he was unconsciously obsessed with their novelty as much as he shied away from diving into them fully.

There was one thing he kept coming back to - all of these figures, kings and knights, priests and peasants, to his clear head were only characters, with names and appearances so unfamiliar that he might have read them in a novel, or a history book. Only one figure seemed to blur the lines between the visions and his own memories. Every time one of the knights ran across his mind, a young man named Percival (surely he had been reading too many stories again, though he hadn’t so much as picked up a book since the incident with the psychic), he constantly confused him with his boyfriend. Even stranger, when he thought about his boyfriend, he pictured Percival in his place; and somehow, neither of these things felt wrong.

He called his angel-spirit “Galahad,” at first as a joke based on the psychic’s ridiculous story, but as the days drew on, everything started falling into place. He realized that Galahad wasn’t a ghost, or an angel, or even another person in his head. Galahad was _him._


	2. Crown

They met in year 10, in an elective course on folklore. Percival liked writing stories and Galahad liked reading myths. 

_They met in Camelot, the week Galahad left the convent and his father knighted him. Percival was an anxious boisterous young knight and Galahad was a quiet, nervous outsider._

They studied together for the whole term, both interested in how religion shaped folk tales. Galahad introduced Percival to Starhawk, Z. Budapest, Margaret Murray, Gerald Gardner, and Doreen Valiente. They had so much to say about the ancient world, how faith and magic once mixed. They wanted to do their final project on Margot Adler’s “Drawing Down the Moon” and modern Paganism, but their teacher did not approve, so they wrote about Robin Hood instead. They spent their summer exploring London like neither of them had before. They pledged themselves to each other with a private handfasting in Victoria Park. They rarely spent more than a day apart and when a year and a day passed and they were still together, they dreamed of convincing their respective parents to let them travel for A-levels, and go somewhere magical together.

_They collided three months into their quest for the Holy Grail. Galahad rescued Percival from a whole castle of malicious knights. Percival pledged his life to Galahad, vowed never to leave his side. After months in shared lodgings and cold nights outside, they only parted when Galahad went to sea with his father. They did not see each other again for half a year, then it was only three moons until Galahad was gone and Percival took the vows of a monk. He too was gone less than a year later. They had been friends, comrades in arms. Percival had loved Galahad more than anything in the world, and Galahad cast all thoughts of worldly pleasure from his mind, forcing himself to ignore Percival’s affection. Both left these things unspoken between them._

Galahad sat on his bedroom floor, dressed in proper clothes for the first time in days. He stared at his altar, only a small unscented candle lit. He tried to meditate, but he could not clear his thoughts. They were still muddled, still confusing. He thought he knew who he was, but where he was from, his name? That was up for debate.

His boyfriend knocked on his closed door, and when he opened it, he had to stop himself from greeting him as “Percival.” He smiled and invited him in, closing the door and resuming his seat on the floor.

“Merry meet! I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Percival by another name said. He dove forward to hug Galahad and Galahad held him for a long time, finding himself quickly overwhelmed.

When they finally let go, Percival immediately noticed Galahad’s tears.

“Hey, I missed you too. I’ve been sending you good energy, I hope you felt it.”

Galahad could not tell what he was feeling exactly, but he nodded and made himself look directly at his boyfriend’s face. They did not look the same, he and Percival, but he still _knew._

“Thank you,” Galahad said, accepting Percival’s hand to hold, wiping away his tears with his other hand. “I’m glad to see you. It’s been a hard week.”

Percival nodded and squeezed Galahad’s hand. 

“If you’re feeling up to it, we could go for a walk! I found this bookstore near the park, it has so many old books, I couldn’t get through all the shelves when I was there. I think you’d love it!”

“I don’t think it would be good for me to go out,” Galahad said apologetically. “Maybe we could...do some magick?”

“Oh, sure! I’ve been thinking about, um...so I read something about how people have ‘craft names,’ like names they use with their covens and in rituals. I’ve been wanting to try finding mine? And I figure the best way to do that is with some kind of a spell.”

“What if I said...I just figured out my craft name?” Galahad asked carefully.

“Really? That’s so cool! Can I, can I hear it, or is it a secret?”

“It’s...it’s Galahad.”

“Huh! That...that actually makes sense. He’s a good role model, right?”

Here Galahad paused and just stared, before shrugging and hardening his expression.

“Mhuirnín*. Have you read anything about past lives? Or...or reincarnation?”

Percival looked surprised by the questions and thought for a moment.

“I think something, but I’d wager you know more about those things than I do. You’ve read books about Buddhism, right?”

“I’ve read books but...this isn’t about religion. Have you ever wanted to learn who you were in a past life?”

Percival’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

“Do you know how to find out?”

Galahad looked at his boyfriend; his bright excited face, the soft lines of his dimples when he smiled which he did so often, his pale freckles, the light in his blue eyes. He did not want to imagine that kind face marred with despair and trauma, but he already had. He had seen it covered in scars and bashed and bruised and bleeding. He had seen a similar love shine through different eyes, amidst the turmoil of their old lives.

If he didn’t at least _try_ to get Percival to remember, he knew the only thing he could do was suffer alone and leave him to his ignorance. Galahad had not asked to remember - at least, he did not know what he was asking for when he did. Percival could live his life never knowing, never having to deal with the pain Galahad still felt after a week of recovery. Galahad could sacrifice his own love for his boyfriend’s happiness. Teenage romance never lasts anyway, right? Breaking up would be painful, but nowhere near as painful as remembering. He had done it before - left his feelings unspoken for the sake of another, and he could do it again; relegate himself to a life without love. His boyfriend could find someone else, someone _uncomplicated._

Would it be a mercy to make him remember? At least they would be together, they could help each other. He was not above selfishness, but _Galahad_ had been. He did not know which impulse to follow.

“I think so,” Galahad said. “It’s not easy though. Remembering who you once were has consequences.”

“Oh, I know how serious this stuff is! Just go into it with good intentions and everything will be fine!”

“If you really want to do this...Please believe that I do not intend any harm, but I know that...I know that harm will likely come from this. What I mean is...it will hurt. Not physically, but emotionally.”

Percival looked a bit worried, but his smile quickly returned.

“The more more I know about myself, the easier it will be to help others. Besides, I’ve never seen any _real magic._ And are you going to cast it on yourself too? So we can both have stories to tell?”

“Spells can work on the caster, yeah,” Galahad said as a non-answer. “Are you up for it right now?”

Percival nodded and moved closer to the altar; four coloured candles, one white candle and one black, a cup, a small utility knife, paper with a pentagram drawn in pen, and a twig carved into a wand. The white candle was already lit, and Galahad lit the black one before turning off the overhead light. 

Galahad took Percival’s hands.

“No matter what happens, I’m here for you, okay? If you can still trust me, I’m here for you.”

Percival looked at him with his bright smile and sparkling eyes, and leaned forward so their foreheads touched.

“Okay. Try your best to look into my mind. Look for my energies and my intentions, and take hold of what you find familiar. Breath deeply and repeat your mantra, but let yourself get lost in what you find.”

They sat in silence so still they could hear each other’s heartbeats. Galahad let his new-old memories flow the way he had been avoiding all week. He tried to direct them to be memories of Percival. He was hit with another wave of grief, but he found it easier to steel himself to the pain this time. After a few minutes, Percival let go of his hands and sat up.

Galahad opened his eyes to see his boyfriend, no, Percival, squinting at the lit candles in the darkness. Galahad set his gaze forward and Percival shifted to look at him. 

Percival reached forward to touch Galahad’s cheek.

“Galahad? Where are we? Is this...is this heaven?”

Galahad shook his head.

“I only wish.”

“Then where? I only remember…” Percival drifted into his memories and decided he did not want to vocalize them.

“I’m so, so, sorry, Percival. I couldn’t do it. Let myself fall in love. I knew how quickly I would be gone, and I was right. But maybe it will be better this time. Maybe it’s already better.”

Galahad smiled through his tears and squeezed Percival’s hand.

“This time?” Percival asked, perplexed.

“We’re getting another chance. We can forget everything and start over.”

Percival paused, his sad expressed drooping even lower.

“I don’t think I want to forget, though.”

Percival closed his eyes and fell backwards onto the floor. Galahad rushed to catch him and set him there gently. He kept his distance, nowhere near prepared for him to awaken. 

Less than a minute later, Percival was moaning and sitting up. He rubbed his eyes and opened them slowly.

“That was…” He blinked a few times and kept looking down. His voice was somber. “I guess I know who I was.”

Galahad started reaching forward barely touching Percival’s hand before shying away.

“I know who you are too,” Galahad said quietly.

Percival finally looked up, his shining eyes full of fear.

“G-Galahad?”

“Percival.”

Percival took Galahad’s soft smile as an invitation, diving forward to hug him. This time it was Percival who clung to Galahad for his life, and his sobs were not quiet.

Galahad returned the hug, waiting for Percival to let go first.

“I’m so confused...I was - I think I _am_ -”

“I know,” Galahad said. “I remember too. But I’m here this time. And I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * "Mhuirnín" is Irish Gaelic for "true love" or similar. Neither of the modern incarnations of Percival or Galahad are Irish, nor do they speak it. It's more of a nod to the pan-British nature of some neopagan movements.


End file.
